love poetry

I've said it before,
And they'll say it again,
My love's lips the sweetest
You ever have seen.

You'd perhaps like to know,
Helydora's her name;
She's a fairy who puts
E'en the fairies to shame.

O Love Divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care,
We smile at pain while Thou art near!
Though long the weary way we tread,
And sorrow crown each lingering year,
No path we shun, no darkness dread,
Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near!
When drooping pleasure turns to grief,
And trembling faith is changed to fear,
The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,
Shall softly tell us, Thou art near!
On Thee we fling our burdening woe,
O Love Divine, forever dear,

See'est thou a Skylark whose glistening winglets ascending
Quiver like pulses beneath the melodious dawn?
Deep in the heart-yearning distance of heaven it flutters—
Wisdom and beauty and love are the treasures it brings down at eve.

Full of wickedness, I—of many a smutch'd deed reminiscent—of worse deeds capable,
Yet I look composedly upon nature, drink day and night the joys of life, and await death with perfect equanimity,
Because of my tender and boundless love for him I love and because of his boundless love for me.

Thank God Who spared me what I feared!
Once more I gird myself to run.
Thy promise stands, Thou Faithful One.
Horror of darkness disappeared
At length; once more I see the sun,

And dare to wait in hope for Spring,
To face and bear the Winter's cold:
The dead cocoon shall yet unfold
And give to light the living wing;
There's hidden sap beneath the mould.

My God, how could my courage flag
So long as Thou art still the same?
For what were labour, failure, shame,
Whilst Thy sure promise doth not lag

Love came, and round about her played a sense
Of life and heaven, and sweet and sinless sleep,
And plains of golden corn a man might reap
For ever, for there is not any fence,
And powers of thought unresting and intense,
And powers of love majestic,—even as deep
As the blue dim Atlantic, and immense
And lofty and eternal as the steep
Of any Alpine summit crowned with snow;
And powers of passion resolute and wild,
Yet tender as the green and rosy glow
Wherewith the sun, deserting us, has smiled,

You shall not love me for what daily spends,
You shall not know me in the noisy street
Where I as others follow petty ends,
Nor when in fair saloons we chance to meet,
Nor when I'm jaded, sick, perplexed, or mean:
But love me then & only when you know
Me for the channel of the rivers of God,
From deep, ideal, fontal heavens that flow,
Making the shores, making their beauty broad,
Which birds & cattle drink, drink too the roots of the grove,
And animating all it feeds with love.

Love is a Leven, and a loving kisse
The Leven of a loving sweet-heart is.

Come, listen to my story, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing some maids will smile,
While some, perhaps, may sigh.
Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames
Such florid songs as ours,
Yet Truth, sometimes, like eastern dames,
Can speak her thoughts by flowers.
Then listen, maids, come listen, while
Your needle's task you ply;
At what I sing there's some may smile,
While some, perhaps, will sigh.

Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,
Such nets had learn'd to frame,

To be able
and not to do it

Still as a flower

No flame,
a flower spent
with heat—

lovely flower
hanging
in the rain


Never!

Soberly

Whiter than day

Wait forever
shaken by the rain